Walking Wounds
by Joker88
Summary: I know there are some stories on a young Joker, but please, Sympathy? Really now, he's sick! You should be scared of a young Joker. Flames just help me find sick ways for the Joker to torture you. It's a dark night on the Gotham streets. R&R Please...


_**These seem to be getting worse... My Writing I mean. Drop me a review, and I promise I'll be your best friend! Or not, my last best friend met with an...accident. JK! But really... Haha**_

Maureen Fitzhenry was too old to be walking the streets of Gotham at this late hour, but it was fairly warm out and She liked to think that she was exercising, who knows she might even make it to ninety-six. Long enough to see her grandchild at least.

There was nobody out, too near sunrise for gangs, too late for commuters and shoppers. So she was surprises, and even a little frightened when a shadow stretched before her, thin, black and shapeless. The didn't dare turn around, instead sped up a little, hoping that whoever was behind her would turn a corner or go inside one of the many apartment buildings.

After three blocks of being followed she turned and raised her pepper spray. But it wasn't the hulking man she was expecting, instead it was a small boy, no older than ten, trudging along, his face buried in his coat.

What was he doing out so late?

He didn't seem to realize that she had stopped but walked straight into her.

Although she was a pious woman who believed in the best of people, she couldn't help but feel her pockets in case he was a pick pocket, but everything was in place. Not that she had anything of value.

She laughed at her foolishness, as if she had anything worth stealing, and looked down, and stopped.

Time seemed to freeze. It was a doll of a child, gaunt face, pale skin, but a hideous grin was sewn into his skin, the wound was recent, but those stitches looked home-made, crisscrossing, crooked, unhealthy. Already he had an infection, and someone had even sewn part of his real mouth shut.

It was like a Halloween ornament, frightening in it's pathetic terror.

He was staring at her, his face impassive. He probably couldn't make any sort of expression with that hideously frayed thread running in and of his skin like a long dark worm. In the half light from a lamp it looked like the child had thin black teeth caked in blood.

The wound was recent and trails of dried blood wound their way down his chin.

Maureen realized she had stopped breathing and had frozen with one hand outstretched to make sure he was alright after their collision.

He looked half starved, but what could he eat? Pudding maybe? Baby food?

She seemed to have lost the power of speech, it was frightening, and adrenaline pumped through her at the sight of him. It was creepy, and horrific, it made her want to run as fast as her old bones could carry her.

He had lowered his face again, hiding his mouth from view.

"W-What happened?" Maureen asked, her mouth betraying her mind. All she wanted to do was run as far and as fast as she could and then take a bath, wash away he image of his grin.

_He's just a child..._

He looked startled at being spoken to, but he looked...eager almost.

"Want to know?"

He had a high voice, even for a child, but he was smiling, really smiling, his small lips creased upwards, distorting the stitches.

Maureen backed away. He looked older now, his face cast into convoluted pools of darkness and light.

He followed her and reached up, his hand bringing out something that shone silver in the flickering light.

Maureen was old, and tired, her mind was numb, the boy reached up and yanked her down to the ground, she lay sprawled on the concrete and he knelt beside her head, his crazed brown eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Mommy went crazy, she said I was a disappointment, Why can't I be like the rest of the kids on the playground." There was something cold on the womans cheek, biting and soothing, tracing the wrinkles on her face.

"And she carved be up because I wouldn't be happy, because I am such a _waste_."

Maureen finally realized what was happening, her mind slowed by shock and terror kick started and she struggled but, the boy was so strong. Too strong.

"Mommy's in the hospital now, and Daddy says it's all my fault."

Maureen's teeth chattered on the cold steel that cut into her tongue. She could feel tears leaking out of her eyes, burning down her face like blood trailed down his.

She could see every stitch in his face, every piece of mutilated flesh, but she wasn't looking at that, she was looking at the small boy who had brought her so low. The boy with mad eyes.

"Please..." What was she pleading for? Her life? Must be, but it didn't seem like that, It seemed like she was pleading for something more profound.

"So now I'm smiling all the time, for Mommy."

It wasn't a child talking, it was a monster, a butcher speaking through him using his horribly mutilated mouth to speak it's lies to the world, to spread it's madness.

Maureen Fitzhenry would never see her grandson, nor would she want to if she had lived, she would have holed herself up and jumped at the approach of a child's footsteps. If Maureen Fitzhenry had ever seen the light of the approaching dawn.

The boy on the other hand went home and killed his beautiful and very surprised mother.

So does this even make sense? It feels Like I'm just getting more and more crazy every fic... No it doesn't make sense. I just wanted to tell a scar story. I have tons more, that make more sense but the Joker tends to pick the one that will disturb the listener the most... Please Don't flame, I know how bad it is...

_**So... Should I continue to write or just fall down and die from being such a bad writer... I know how many stories there are on the young Joker, But I don't see how you can possibly feel anything but sick horror for him, definitely not sympathy...ugh... I really don't like it when people try to explain him or make him human... But some people have done really good attempts... Hehe, see ya'**_


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